Memories Are Made of This
by deathclawgrrl
Summary: The story of Carla Boone.


**Part 1: Out of the Vault**

**Characters:** _Carla, Sarah Weintraub, Sheldon Weintraub, Doc Mitchell, various OC vault dwellers (Brianna Oleson, Joseph Marks, Laura Marks, Riley, Tyelor, Tina, Carla's parents), Victor, and a special mentioned-only cameo by Dean Domino!_

**Setting:** _Vault 21, year 2271_

The sky is dark but the lights are bright, vivid, energetic. The streets are filled with music, different tunes escaping from different places. People walk in all directions, only walking isn't a proper term for it – more like strolling, parading, and sometimes even skipping. There are big tall Italian sodas at the Bellagio, and there are humongous clown-themed ice cream sundaes at Circus Circus. Vendors hand out cards and pamphlets, advertising attractions that range from Girls Girls Girls! to comedy gold and musical talents. There are people performing on street corners. Some of them dance and others play instruments. There is laughter and shouting and singing and cat-calling. Everyone is drunk and happy. The city is nocturnal, only truly awake at night.

A knock on the door interrupts everything, followed by the smooth whir of it sliding open.

"Carla?" comes a girl's voice. "Oh god, you're watching this again?"

Carla pauses the film. "Yeah, what of it?"

"It's a _documentary_ for god's sake," the girl says, plopping herself down next to Carla on the bed.

"It's a documentary on the greatest city in the world," Carla corrects her. "And you ruined the magic of the moment, Tina."

Her friend gives her a blank look that lasts a few uncomfortable seconds. "Yeah, okay," she finally says. "But you've seen it before. Why don't you come join us in the diner? I think you'll have a lot more fun there."

"Who's 'us'?" Carla says, skeptical.

"You know, everyone who matters," Tina answers.

"Ah. So I assume that includes Tyelor."

Tina blushes. "Well, yeah I guess."

"That's what I thought."

"Shut up," Tina says, punching Carla playfully on the shoulder. The two burst out laughing as they make their way through the corridors from Carla's room to the diner.

"Hey, you know what day it is today?" Carla asks.

"Uh, April 7th?" Tina replies like it's a trick question.

"Right, and that makes it exactly one month until my 18th birthday." They enter the diner. "I expect gifts, Tina, wonderful knick knacks from the Old World."

"Gifts, huh?" A smug male voice interrupts. Carla glances up and sees Tyelor. Tina's blushing again and Carla suppresses the impulse to roll her eyes. "From the Old World? That's cute." He grins, looking only at Carla.

"Yeah everyone knows she's obsessed with the Old World," Tina chimes in with an exaggerated laugh. "She's always living in the past."

"Like there's much else to live for in this vault," comes Carla's flat response.

"Lighten up, will you?" Tina nags.

Tyelor changes the subject. "You girls arrived just in time, you know. They're about to hold a Gambling."

"Ooh! A Gambling, that's fun," Tina gushes. "We haven't had one in two weeks! What's it over this time?"

"Sarah Weintraub claims my brother stole some of her panties or something."

"Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do," Carla points out.

"Oh my god!" Tina squeals. "Did he do it though? I mean, do you know?"

Tyelor shrugs nonchalantly. "I wouldn't know for sure, but I wouldn't put it below him either. Come on, let's blow this joint."

Tina grabs Carla's arm. "I told you you'd have more fun out here!"

"Woohoo," Carla exclaims with the enthusiasm of an atheist in church. "Another Gambling. Those never get old."

Now it's Tina's turn to roll her eyes. "Says the girl who has a fascination with all things Vegas."

"Yeah, wasn't Vegas pretty much gambling and casino central?" Tyelor casually points out.

"You bet," Carla answers. "But that was a time when people gambled for fun. Not for politics." She pauses before adding under her breath, "Not that I'd consider a panty raid a political cause."

They arrive at the gambling hall only to find it crowded. Everyone in the vault must be there. Sarah Weintraub is at the card table, setting everything up, while Tyelor's brother Riley is slacking off in the corner, joking with his friends. Carla even spots her parents in the crowd, as well as the vault's doctor, who rarely leaves his clinic. A quick glance shows he isn't unaccompanied, and was most likely coaxed out by the woman he now has his arm around.

Tina nudges Carla and points in their direction. "Looks like Doc Mole Butt and Brianna Oleson are back together again."

"Those two have been off and on since before I discovered masturbation," Tyelor remarks, earning stifled giggles from Tina and a glare from Carla.

"I wish you guys wouldn't call him that," Carla says.

"I wish you didn't hate fun," Tyelor retorts.

Carla ignores him and continues surveying the gambling hall. The room is abuzz, eyes are lit, and voices are boisterous with excitement. In one corner, men and women are gathered, placing bets on whether Sarah or Riley will win. Gambling over gambling. There are lovers holding hands, best friends gossiping, and children running about, weaving in and out between the scattered cliques. Some people who had been in the café earlier even brought their plates to-go so they could watch, dinner and a show. And as always, the vault's school teacher has her students gathered so they can learn the basics of gambling, a necessity for life in Vault 21, like voting might have been in pre-war days.

Tyelor stretches and lets out a sigh. "Well," he says with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I'm going to go wish Sarah good luck."

"Oh sure, wish her luck and not your brother," Tina scoffs when he walks away. Carla can tell she's just a little jealous, though she shouldn't be surprised. Tyelor flirts with everyone.

When he's gone, Carla mutters, "It's funny how desperate people are for some fun. It's gotten to the point that they will find any excuse to hold a Gambling, even something as silly as missing underwear."

"Well, gambling was a common addiction even in the Old World," Tina points out.

Carla smirks. "So you did pay attention to that Vegas documentary."

"In my defense, we had to take notes on it for class last year."

"Why don't you at least admit it was interesting?" Carla pinches Tina's arm teasingly.

"Ow!" Tina rubs her arm. "Okay, I'll admit it was a little bit interesting. More interesting than that one documentary you showed me. The one on that hot singer."

"Which one?" Carla grins.

"Yeah, I know, there's so many of them. Elvis, Sinatra, Nat King Cole… and weren't there like two Deans?"

"Dean Martin and Dean Domino," Carla confirms. "Domino is my favorite."

"Right, he's the one you've got this huge stupid crush on."

"I wouldn't say that… but it sure would be wonderful if he somehow survived the war."

"Gross!" Tina exclaims. "He'd be over 200 years old, you sicko!"

"Don't think like that! I just wish I could have heard him sing live, that's all." The girls share a laugh.

Their laughter is cut short by Tyelor's booming voice quieting the room. "Alright everybody, listen up!"

"Thank you, Tye," Sarah Weintraub says. "I'd like to ask Riley to come forward. Riley? Where are you, Riley? Ah, there you are."

Riley saunters over from his corner, sneering at Sarah all the while. "God, he's worse than Tyelor," Carla gripes. "At least Tyelor has some respect, even if he is a shameless womanizer."

"So what's it gonna be?" Riley says once he reaches Sarah.

"The game," Sarah responds, dealing the cards, "is Blackjack." There's a hum of approval from the crowd. "If I win, you owe me some money for a new set of underwear. If you win, you're home free, and I pay you for the trouble."

"Sounds like a deal," says Riley.

Tina moves up to get a better view of the game, and probably to get closer to Tyelor, but Carla stays rooted to her spot, still wishing she could be back in her room alone with her pre-war posters, holotapes, and books. She's daydreaming about daydreaming.

Ten minutes into the game, her thoughts are interrupted by a man's voice. "You've seen a Blackjack match once, you've seen it a thousand times, am I right?"

She turns to see Sheldon Weintraub, Sarah's brother, standing next to her. She's seen him a few times and spoken with him once or twice. He's almost an exact opposite of his sister, quiet and reserved, another daydreamer like Carla. He's also one of the few people who doesn't get riled up over a Gambling.

"I suppose," Carla answers him. "But I wouldn't mind seeing one in its original context."

"Ah yes, the Old World glory days of the Las Vegas Strip," says Sheldon. "I wouldn't mind experiencing that, either, though I prefer the artistic side of it all."

"Me, too," Carla insisted, eager to finally speak with someone who at least shared some of her sentimentalities. "I adore Old War music."

"I'm not one for noise myself," Sheldon says, much to Carla's disapproval. "But there certainly was a charm to the Strip. The architecture, the lights, the décor in general. Very distinct."

Carla decides to let his insulting comment on music slide, and agrees with him. "It was a very exciting place."

"Even the signs had this detailed craftsmanship and zeal put into them," Sheldon continues. "Granted, it may not have been in the same spirit as the Italian Renaissance, but who can hope to measure? It's enough, anyway."

Carla is beginning to realize how it must feel for her family and friends when she rattles on about things they don't care about. But she politely contributes, "And to think we're living right under it all."

Sheldon smiles at her as if noticing her for the first time despite the fact they'd been talking. "Precisely," he says. "Right in the heart of the Strip. Everything we've been dreaming of, and everything everyone here mimics, all just a few yards above our heads."

"I wonder if there's anyone up there," Carla muses.

Sheldon shrugs. "I don't much care who's up there. Only _what_. I want to see it all. I want to be inspired."

Carla isn't sure what to say. She's always dreamed of experiencing the thrills of the Old World but never looked at it the way Sheldon seems to.

But she doesn't get a chance to speak anyway. A peculiar, ear-splitting cough sounds from the door leading to the main hall and the vault's entrance. The game comes to a sudden halt and the room subsequently falls silent as each person turns their head towards the source.

No one is prepared for what they see: a tall blue box-like robot, balanced on one wheel, with a flickering screen projecting a cowboy caricature.

"Well howdy, y'all!" it says in an exaggerated (but still relatively robotic) western man's voice.

Immediately the room erupts into mixed voices, everybody talking amongst themselves in wonder and confusion. A middle-aged man named Joseph Marks raises his voice above the others and says, "Alright, whose idea of a joke is this?"

The robot raises its long arms slightly, startling those near it into silence. "Whoa, now!" it says, quieting the rest. "This here ain't a joke, friends." It chuckles, sending a collective chill up and down each person's spine. "Naw, I've been sent to you from outside, you see."

The man named Joseph Marks slowly approaches the robot, squinting, and the crowd willingly parts for him. He stops a few feet in front of the robot and looks it up and down.

"Are you from Vault-Tec?" he asks.

The robot chuckles again, just as eerie the second time. "Naw, friend, I'm not from Vault-Tec."

"Then how did you get in here?" Joseph Marks asks, losing his patience. "Who sent you?"

The crowd is buzzing again in a combination of fear and excitement. Carla isn't sure what to feel. A part of her feels rightfully terrified. She has never seen a robot up in person and the vault life has always been peaceful. Another part of her feels amazed. The fact that a robot is out there implies is life out there. Someone programmed the robot, and someone sent it. This is the most exciting thing to ever happen in Vault 21.

"Now, hold on just a minute, folks," the robot says, trying its best and failing to calm everyone down. "I don't mean you nice folks any harm. I'm here to strike a deal with your Overseer."

"'Overseer'?" Joseph repeats in a raised voice, successfully hushing everyone. "We don't have an Overseer. Everyone's equal here." There are nods of agreement and scattered murmurs of, "That's right."

"Well, I suspected as much!" the robot says. "Just had to make sure this was the vault I was thinkin' of."

"Hang on a second," Joseph says, pointing an accusing finger at the robot. "You still haven't answered my questions. Let me repeat them: _Who are you_ and _how did you get in here_?"

"I hope you'll pardon my rudeness," the robot says, performing a gesture that almost resembles a bow. "Name's Victor! I was sent here by an agreeable man named Mr. House to bring good tidings and make peaceful negotiations." Victor's screen flickers to show a wider, supposedly friendlier grin on the cowboy's face before flickering back to its default smile. "As for how I got in here, well that's a bit complicated. Guess you could say I hacked the door's mainframe."

The buzz rises angrily this time, and Joseph with it. "This is an outrage!" he yells, clenching his fists. "What makes you think you can just barge right into our home?" There are many grumbles of agreement to back him up.

"Well I'm sorry you see it that way, friend, but I really do mean you no harm," Victor insists.

A large group of men and women have gathered themselves around Joseph now, showing their support by collectively glaring down the robot. "Is this a dream?" Carla hears Sheldon whisper, and she can't help sharing his impression. The group slowly closes itself in on Victor, who raises a robotic arm as if in defense.

"WAIT!" comes that familiar booming voice. Everyone turns their gaze to Tyelor now, the only person who seems better at snaring the crowd's attention than Joseph Marks. "Let's hear the guy out," Tyelor suggests.

The room becomes divided in murmurs of various tones, and Joseph's posse looks to him for a response.

"Alright," Joseph finally says begrudgingly. Tyelor nods at Victor.

"Thank you kindly, friend!" Victor beams at Tyelor, relaxing his robotic arms now. "Now, as I was saying, I've been sent by one Mr. House to warmly offer greetings and hopes of friendly negotiations. You see, Mr. House has a foolproof plan to restore Las Vegas to its former glory. In fact, he's already started on it now, if you can believe it! But he's going to need your help. So what do you all say?"

Joseph is about to speak, but Tyelor cuts him off. "First of all, I just want to offer a better welcome to… Victor, was it?" The robot nods. "Well, it's a real pleasure to meet you, Victor." Joseph scowls at this.

"The pleasure's all mine!" says Victor.

"Now, moving on, who exactly is this Mr. House?"

Victor chuckles. "Well you see, that's a mighty tough question to answer. Mr. House is a man of flesh and blood, just like you. He's been around a real long time, and he's always been a mighty influential man. He's real important, see, and without him the world outside would be a lot worse for wear than it is. Why, he's likely the only hope there is for the future of the soil above you."

Tyelor nods slowly, registering what the robot said. "Okay," he says. "So tell me, what is it Mr. House wants with us?"

"Well now, don't think he'd be taking without giving. Mr. House needs your cooperation if he's going to expand his empire. I reckon you already know the vault is located on the Strip. See, it's right where Mr. House is rebuilding the world. And he sure would love it if you guys would join him."

"Now hang on just one second!" says Joseph. "We won't be making any deals with some robot. We demand to see this Mr. House, if he really wants to make a deal with us!"

"Well now I'm afraid it's not as simple as all that," Victor explains.

"Not as simple?" Joseph repeats, outraged. "No, you're wrong, it really is quite simple: we just want to see the man we're supposed to be speaking with. That's all. Not some cheap robot. How are we supposed to know the man exists? How do we know your programmer isn't long dead? How do we know it's safe out there? You're a robot, you wouldn't be affected by radiation like us!" Joseph's posse, which had grown larger as he spoke, expresses their agreement.

"Now wait a minute, Mr. Marks," Tyelor begins to say.

"Don't you start on me, boy!"

The two men glare at each other, face to face. The older looks furious while the younger is even-tempered.

Suddenly a woman speaks up. "Excuse me, Joseph."

Joseph glances down and is shocked to see his wife speaking up. "What is it, Laura?" he asks, baffled.

"I just think you haven't really given this ro—ah, fellow a chance to speak his piece. Maybe there's something this Mr. House can offer us in return."

Joseph is clearly too stunned to answer, so Tyelor speaks up instead. "Well, Victor? We have some idea of what Mr. House wants. Let's not beat around the bush, he wants our vault. But what does he possibly have to offer us?"

"Why, that's real easy!" says Victor. "He wouldn't kick you guys out of your old home so much as offer you a new one. Why, you guys have been cooped up for so long with little to do. Sure, you've had a nice peaceful life, but there's more to it than that! There's a whole bountiful world out there with potential, and Mr. House believes you guys could be just the ones to bring that potential to fruition."

This grabs the interests of the younger crowd, Carla and Tyelor included. "That is a very promising offer," Tyelor admits. "But do you really expect us to believe we can survive out there alone?"

"Oh but you wouldn't be alone now," Victor assures. "In fact, there are already plenty of settlements out there, right on the land!"

There's that excited hum again, filled with people whispering to each other and thinking out loud, mixed tones of skepticism and delight.

"And besides, once Mr. House restores the Strip, why life wouldn't be much different than it was to start with! There'd be casinos and plenty of gambling."

This settles it for Tyelor. "We have nothing to lose and so much to gain," he says to the others, that trademark youthful glint in his eye. A group of people have gathered around him now, chattering excitedly in agreement and wonder.

But Joseph still has his posse, and disapproval is written on all of their faces. "Do you even realize what you're saying?" Joseph asks Tyelor.

Tyelor gazes at Joseph coolly. "Yes, I do," he answers. "Don't mistake my willingness to negotiate with foolishness."

Joseph grits his teeth and clenches his fists, and he almost looks ready to fight Tyelor when Victor comes between them. "Now hold on, you two!" he says. "I can see a consensus hasn't been reached yet. And that's fine! Really, it is. Mr. House doesn't expect y'all to make this decision on a whim like this. No, he said he'd give you three weeks to think it over if need be! So, what do you say? Looks to me you guys could use the extra time."

Without breaking their cold stares at one another, both Joseph and Tyelor nod. "I think that would be best," Joseph says.

"Well, alright then! I'm sure three weeks will be plenty for you all to reach a decision. And I'm sure it will be a mighty good one, too." Victor's screen flickers to a winking cowboy. "Well, I'd better see myself out then. It was nice meeting you all. Remember, I'll be back three weeks from this day expecting a decision."

The gambling hall is silent for what seems like ages once Victor's gone. Eventually people start calling it a night one by one, heading to their rooms with heavy weights on their mind.

The Gambling is all but forgotten.


End file.
